Why Nigerians are better cooks than the rest of us
When the Nigerian students arrived, suddenly the parties just had to have some jollof rice or the party would be incomplete. PHOTO | FILE
What you need to know:
- Kenyan foods had colonised us, the Kenyans found a way of ensuring that the food became more than just Kenyan and was African.
- A former in-law of South Africa, he knew just what sort of intimate relationship South Africans have with their meat and decided to bring it to them. The braai masters were not South African either. They were Nigerian guys. I considered going Nigerian on them and instructing them on where to place the meat on the braai stand but I could not. The meat was chargrilled to perfection.
When I first went to university, the majority of Africans at my university were Kenyans. It happened, therefore, that at parties, Kenyan food colonised the non-Kenyan Africans among us. At Christmas, our ‘adopted African,’ an American friend called Bill, would open his home to us, get us at least two goats and the party would begin — nyama choma, ugali, sukuma, mutura and that Kenyan of all dishes named chapati.
The Southern Africans among us just went with the flow and ate whatever was offered.
My South African compatriot, Vusi, and I had a long-standing joke that we had not got on a plane just so that we could eat pap and vleis again. But if Kenyan foods had colonised us, the Kenyans found a way of ensuring that the food became more than just Kenyan and was African.
Ken taught me how to make mutura after the goat had been slaughtered. And I think, though I cannot confirm a 100 per cent, that Vusi learnt how to make chapos.
Things changed when the Nigerian students came.
One of my maternal aunts is married and has been married to a Nigerian man since 1972, and I thought wanting Nigerian food everywhere was just Uncle Charles’s peculiarity. Turns out I was very wrong. When the Nigerian students arrived, suddenly the parties just had to have some jollof rice or the party would be incomplete. While the non-Nigerians could pass the salt or the pepper while in the kitchen, or pour the drinks, this was about all one was permitted to do.
Only a Nigerian knew just how to chop the tomatoes correctly for the blender before making a tomato stew and even then, they would not always agree. There would always be some man or woman when someone was cooking who would come by and enquire whether enough of this or enough of that had been put.
There was some conflict between the Ghanaian guy and the Nigerians over the right way to make jollof but he lost as he was outnumbered.
EGUSI SOUP
I tell you this thing with Nigerians and their food is such that even five-star hotels in Nigeria have to have at least three Nigerian dishes for breakfast, lunch and dinner if they want to stay in business. Made by a Nigerian chef.
Two weeks ago, while in Johannesburg, I looked up a Nigerian writer friend doing a residency in Johannesburg. We arranged to meet for lunch. I met him. But not for lunch. Somehow between my last conversation with him and our meeting, Victor had managed to find a Nigerian restaurant in Yeoville.
He had not been in South Africa for a month, but already he was hunting for egusi soup and pounded yam. When I met him I said the statement I say to all my Nigerian friends, “try other people’s food and enjoy it.” Not because I thought he was going to do anything differently. But just so that I can later say in a column, “I have told my Nigerian friends to try foods from other countries but they will not.”
But then I realised that perhaps, things may be changing. That may be folks sometimes do crave, every now and again, food from their home countries.
A week later after my Jo’burg stint, I was in Lagos. On my last day, I was invited for a party by a South African friend. On arrival, the smell of braai tickled at least four of my five senses and all that was left for me to do was to taste. A friend made a plate for me and here I was with my boerewors, my lamb chops and beefing up on the best. Yes. Real South African beef.
The owner of the place, Tope Atera, is a Nigerian who found a niche market in importing South African beef for South Africans in Lagos.
A former in-law of South Africa, he knew just what sort of intimate relationship South Africans have with their meat and decided to bring it to them. The braai masters were not South African either. They were Nigerian guys. I considered going Nigerian on them and instructing them on where to place the meat on the braai stand but I could not. The meat was chargrilled to perfection.
I concluded that perhaps the reason Nigerians want Nigerian cooks for their food but have no problem with making everyone else’s food is that they are just better cooks than the rest of us. Or maybe their entrepreneurial spirit leads them to become masters of all trades.
